


Borrowed time

by Quente



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Call me by your name, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11756238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quente/pseuds/Quente
Summary: Conversations before, during, and after.~“I suddenly realized that we were on borrowed time, that time is always borrowed, and that the lending agency exacts its premium precisely when we are least prepared to pay and need to borrow more...”― André Aciman, Call Me by Your Name





	Borrowed time

“Yeah, I have.” Armie’s hands were between his knees, and he leaned forward. He wasn’t in costume, they were at “their” cafe in Crema, over cobblestones and under shade, surrounded by the aroma of baking bread and espresso.

“You have, eh? For a film?”

Armie’s lips quirked. “You mean to tell me,” his voice went deeper, sounded serious, “that you haven’t seen everything I’ve done?”

Timothée felt his cheeks heat with a sudden flush. The truth was, you didn’t step into this kind of role lightly, without research. “At first,” he admitted, feeling compelled to string Armie (and his solid, indestructible ego) along just a little more, “At first I watched everything that Shia did.”

Armie sat back, eyes catching onto a bird as it landed near some breadcrumbs at their feet. “I’d forgotten he was reading for the role,” he snorted. “But...as ungracious as it is, I’m glad for his little implosion.”

“I don’t know if Shia’s kissed any boys on screen, though,” Timothée said thoughtfully. “I’d probably be stuck with awkwardness and bad breath and too much tongue.”

The bark of Armie’s laughter frightened away the bird, who fled in a staccato of wingbeats. “So, want a mint?”

~

They wandered along the streets of Crema, and Timothée felt the spring sun cook his hair. His curls were a wreck -- he hadn’t known earlier that this would be a vague kind of date, a date with his on-screen lover. He hadn’t washed, either, stank of whatever they’d done in principal photography yesterday. Today was a rare day off, mid-week, while Luca reviewed rushes.

“The book is like eating super rich molé sauce over pork,” Armie said, thoughtful. “I couldn’t read much of it at once. But I also remember when I was young and confused, at one point, about sexuality.”

“I feel like every metaphor you have circles back to cooking.”

“It’s my wife’s doing. She’s the cook -- the baker, the mother, the everything.”

“Sounds nice. I’m...I’m not nearly ready for that.”

Armie stopped his walking, hit Timothée with one of his devastatingly sincere looks. “If you find the right person, don’t fuck around,” he said. 

“No -- I. That’s a good idea,” Timothée said, shrugging. Wise or not, it was better to bank on sincerity than on the haunting thought that any actor relationship had to end in a divorce. “Did you get un-confused about sexuality?”

“Yeah,” Armie said. “I realized that when you’re an actor and your imagination is pretty vast, you can put yourself into the shoes of just about anyone.”

“Including Oliver. And --” it was teasing at Timothée’s mind, the on-screen kiss. Who was it? What was it? “That other...kiss.”

Armie chuckled and turned, hopping onto a curb to fit his shoes carefully along the edge of it. “It’ll come to you.”

~

“Batman? Did you kiss Superman?” Timothée hazarded. They were about to go skinny dipping at the coast, their clothes bundled up and lying on a conveniently high rock. Timothée stared down at Armie’s ass as he carefully picked his way down to the water. It was shapely, and he wondered what a good handful would feel like.

This felt...this felt a lot like that book, is what it did.

“What?” Armie turned, and Timothée couldn’t help pausing to take in his body. Long, thick, tall, strong, with the softest patch of light brown around his penis.

Armie paused, and simply stood, his expression turning patient. “Come down into the water,” he said, as if he was saying something else entirely.

“Yeah,” Timothée said. “Not to be awkward, but your wife --”

“That’s between me and my wife,” Armie said, smiling. 

“So, it’s OK if I stare at your --”

“Yeah. And more, too. It’s OK, Timmy.”

Just like that, a knot of confusion fell away. “This is easy, then. It’s not like I’m tempting you.” Timothée walked up to him, stood on the same patch of rock, feeling uncharacteristically short. He was usually the tall one, the beanpole, the awkward kid… but he looked up, not minding that Armie’s eyes were falling thoughtfully down his body too.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Armie said, and then with a sudden push, Timothée felt his balance give way, and the coldness of the water surround him.

“You shit --” Timothée spluttered, laughing and lunging toward Armie, grappling him down into the cold bay.

After a long moment of too many arms and legs and too much water, they surfaced, Armie shaking bright drops from his hair before reaching out again.

Timothée braced for a splash, but it didn’t come. Instead, Armie was close, much too close. And then their noses were touching, and a hand slid beneath Timothée’s butt to float him closer.

He leaned in first, pressing the lightest kiss to Armie’s chin. Timothée’s whole body felt like someone had just stroked its edges with a feather.

“I’m already hard and I haven’t even kissed you,” Timothée said, hiding his face in Armie’s shoulder, body shaking in a helpless chuckle.

A curious hand fluttered down his stomach. “I should probably kiss you before I touch your dick,” Armie said, and his voice was husky.

“Let’s get that done.” Timothée smiled at him from up close, then pressed closer, then felt their bodies collide with their lips. Armie wasn’t hard yet, and it made Timothée feel...young.

At the same time, falling into the kiss was absurdly easy, and felt way too normal. As if Timothée had been kissing Armie in his head for ages, and now it was simply playing on the screen of reality. 

He was breathing hard by the time their lips parted, the soft trace of Armie’s tongue still a light pressure against the bottom bow of his lip. 

“And now I’m going to …”

“Let’s at least find rocks to stand on,” Timothée said, out of breath and just a little dizzy. 

~

Later (yes, later), lying with his hotel sheets pooled around their legs, head pillowed on far too developed a set of chest muscles, Timothée realized that he knew who that kiss was with.

“My god,” he said, sitting upright and staring down. “I’m second to Leonardo DiCario, aren’t I? How much did you practice with him?” Timothée’s hands gestured wildly, taking in their naked bodies, the warm room, the white sheets, everything. 

It felt suddenly important that Timothée demand this clarity -- he felt suddenly appalled, as if he was up against competition far out of his league.

Armie’s expression was caught between amusement and exasperation. “You’re 20, not 17, but I was still having sex before you were legal. But fine, let’s talk this one out.”

It helped Timothée to slide down, rest his elbow on Armie’s strong thighs, give Armie’s soft dick a tiny boop with his finger. “Tell me that story. I remember the scene now. It was so -- repressed. Violent. Homophobic.” 

“And arousing,” Armie said, now resting his head on his hands and staring at the whitewashed ceiling. “There was truly nothing hotter, at that moment, than putting myself entirely into Clyde’s mind and trying to feel what it would’ve been like. To meet a charismatic, intelligent guy like Hoover… and to shove your love into the tightest box you could, nail it closed. It felt like anything would unhinge the lid, and … physical violence was the crowbar that pried it all open.”

Timothée swallowed hard, remembering the day he’d gone back to his girlfriend Lourde’s apartment and met her mom; her mom, Madonna. But nobody was ever handing him breaks in life, and so he stood as tall as he could and gave her his brightest grin, holding it all together while meeting one of the world’s greatest icons.

“Hey, what are you up to in this handsome head of yours?” Armie’s voice was amused, his hand settling into Timothée’s hair.

Timothée realized that his finger was idly tracing the vein that ran along the top of Armie’s dick. It was fat, in its flacidness. Fat and long and lazy. “Thinking about when I met Lourde’s mom. I think I knew but didn’t know. It was like dating a princess who was playing a normal girl, you know? Didn’t last long, but it was still… you know how it is. Not the first kiss, but the first of a lot of things.”

Armie’s eyes were doing a thing where they slid halfway closed, instead of far too open. He looked sly, speculative, and shifted to raise a leg. Timothée raised his eyebrow when he saw where else his finger could go, tilted his head.

“While we’re talking, we might as well practice a little more.” Armie’s voice was raspy.

“O-okay.” Timothée sat up, reaching over to the oil. He coated up his fingers, making it slow.

“You smell so different from a girl. Not sweet at all. But I don’t dislike it.”

“You, on the other hand. When I kissed Leo, I got hard. I guess I was in the moment, right? But … ahh. Slow, kid. Slow.”

“Me, on the other hand?”

“You smell like a memory of being young. All horny and sweaty and … and good.”

Timothée stilled his finger, the tip of which was disappearing into Armie’s body. His dick was hardening, and he took a breath. Leaned down. Used the tip of his tongue to trace that vein, and felt Armie’s cock grow as he licked it.

Later, balls-deep and sweating, Timothée thanked all the gods of Italy that he’d come twice before starting to fuck. “Look -- look into my eyes, Timmy,” Armie said, between one pant and the next. “Don’t close your eyes. This is so we get -- closer.”

Timothée stared at him, catching the essence of the moment, nearly distracted from seeing it. But then he saw it. Armie, naked to the core, busted open and intense, just for him -- for that rough push of a dick deep into his body. It was overwhelming, tight, dirty. Timothée felt helpless, kept his eyes wide open, his hands braced on that thick set of shoulders.

“Shift just a -- snap your hips. Uhhh -- yeah,” Armie said, reaching down to press a strong grip into Timothée’s ass. The very pressure heightened the tension -- as if distracting him for even a second brought him that much closer to an edge. But he focused on the motion, like a tough set of choreography or scene blocking -- “Scene blocking with my dick,” he thought hazily.

He muffled a giggle into a kiss, deep and slow and dragging, keeping pace with the friction. 

Armie’s fingers dug into his ass, gripped, shoved, directed. “Hold on, kid. I’m almost there.”

~

Even later, feeling the utter strangeness of someone’s body curled against his back, overwhelming him with size, Timothée stared into the dark.

“Your mind is keeping me awake,” Armie said sleepily, cuddling him a bit closer.

“What is this?” The answer felt unknowable.

“It’s a moment. We get to grow together.”

Timothée took a deep breath, and then another. “Okay,” he said, and settled back into the curve of Armie’s body, feeling the solidity bolster him. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nothing2c), if you choose.


End file.
